


Joy Ride

by Angstqueen



Category: Dead Zone
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstqueen/pseuds/Angstqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce takes a ride in his new car. Unfortunately the outcome isn't what he had expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joy Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Physical Therapy #2 under the pen name McKenzie Griffin.

 

         "John, when are you going to tell me where we're going?"  Bruce Lewis looked at his friend with suspicion, which heightened when the blond grinned.

         "You'll see soon enough.  Just relax and enjoy the view!" John Smith suggested, keeping his eyes on the road as they turned off the highway onto a quiet country road.

         "John–"

         "Trust me, Bruce.  Please?"

         The entreaty was so genuine Bruce gave up the interrogation.  Whatever John had up his sleeve, he wanted to keep it a surprise right up until the end.

         They drove in comfortable silence for another thirty minutes before John turned onto a dirt side road.

         After traveling a few miles, Bruce cleared his throat.  "Uh, John, if you're not going to tell me why, can you at least tell me where?  I mean, this is starting to look like the set-up of a bad wilderness movie, know what I'm sayin'?"

         John grinned, his blue eyes alight with mischief.  "Relax, we're almost there."

         "Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Bruce complained, shaking his head in disbelief.  "I can't believe I let you talk me into this–"

         "Let me?"  Johnny snorted.  "I had to practically _force_ you into the car to get you here."

         "Which would have been a lot easier if I knew where 'here' is, John," the physical therapist pointed out.

         "Okay, you really want to know where we're going?"

         "Yes!"

         "Fine.  We're here."

         "Where?" Bruce bellowed.

         "There."  The blond pointed to a large clearing in front of them.  It was neatly kept with a small ranch house and a well-maintained barn.

         The younger man groaned in defeat, covering his face with his hands.  "Why me, God?"

         John laughed as he parked his car.  Honking the horn once, he got out and waved to the man who stepped out onto the front porch.

         "Right on time," the man smiled.  "Always good to see you, John."

         "You too, Dusty."  John reached out, shaking the other man's hand.

         Bruce blinked in astonishment.  He could count on one hand the number of times John Smith ever initiated physical contact with anybody.  Well, except with him, of course.  But that was different…

         The physical therapist took a closer look at their host.  He was probably in his mid-thirties, medium height and build, brown hair worn long in a single, neat ponytail – nothing unusual or immediately eye-catching about him.

         As if sensing the inspection, Dusty turned to Bruce and offered his hand.  "Dusty Stevens, and I'm guessing he still hasn't told you why you're here?"

         "Bruce Lewis, pleased to meet you, and no, he hasn't."  The black man glared at his friend, who simply smirked in response.

         Dusty laughed.  Pulling a neatly folded bandana from his back pocket he offered it to Johnny.

         "What's that for?" the blond asked, puzzled.

         "Wasn't sure if you wanted him blindfolded, or if you're finally gonna let him in on what you've been planning."

         Smith stroked his chin, looking distracted.  "Guess I should tell him, huh?"

         "Uh, guys?  I'm right here."  Bruce spread his arms wide.

         Stevens tossed a set of keys to Johnny.  "Put the poor man out of his misery, why don't you?  The door's open."  He nodded at the barn.

         Grinning widely now, Johnny turned and pointed to Bruce.  "You stay here."

         "John, what the hell–?"  Bruce wanted to be annoyed, but his friend was enjoying himself so much he couldn't hold onto the emotion for long.

         However, Smith was already making his way to the barn, Dusty following behind.  They opened the large doors, but the interior was too dark for Bruce to see anything.

         His curiosity was finally appeased moments later when he heard an engine start inside the building – a car engine.

         And then John was driving a car out into the sunlit clearing.  Bruce's jaw dropped in astonishment.  A Mustang convertible, probably from the mid- to late-80's… and in almost pristine condition.  He whistled with awe as he inspected it more closely.  The exterior was silver, with a black top.  Leaning in on the open passenger side, he took a look at the interior.  It was dark blue and, like the exterior, it was in perfect condition.

         "Damn, John!  This is one fine ride."  He shook his head.  "No wonder you've been keeping this a secret.  You knew if I saw it, I'd beat you to it, right?"

         "Something like that."  John opened the door and got out.  "Want to take it for a spin?"

         "Can I?"  Bruce looked at Dusty, who shrugged and nodded at Johnny, indicating that it was his decision.

         "Wouldn't offer otherwise."  The blond stepped away from the car, watching with amusement as his friend ran to the driver's side and climbed in.

         "You coming with me?" Bruce asked as John stood watching.

         "You want me to?"

         "It's your car, man!  Get your ass in that seat."  While John made himself comfortable, Bruce adjusted the mirrors and then put the car in gear.  "Hang on!"

         "Bruce– Uh, Bruce?"  John quickly fastened his seatbelt, then tried to relax as his friend drove off down the dirt road as if in hot pursuit.

         As much as Bruce wanted to push the car to its limits, he knew it was a twenty-year-old vehicle, not to mention that it wasn't his.  But most of all, he was keenly aware of the fact that the car's current owner had a bad history with out of control cars.  He wasn't about to stress John out like that.

         Johnny let out a relieved sigh as the Mustang's speed dropped into a more acceptable range.  He glanced over at his friend, grinning at the rapturous expression on the other man's face.

         Bruce took them on a half-hour ride, at Johnny's insistence, before returning to Dusty's place.  As they approached the clearing, Bruce sighed.

         "Man, this is one _sweet_ ride, John.  I do hope you know that."  Putting the car in park and setting the emergency brake, Bruce shut off the engine and with visible reluctance he pulled the keys from the ignition.

         "I was hoping you'd think so," John said, his eyes gleaming.

         "What?  Me?"  The younger man looked startled.  "What have I got to do with any of this?"

         Reaching into his jacket pocket, John pulled out a folded piece of paper and another set of keys.  He handed them over to his friend, taking in the other man's confused expression.

         "It's yours, Bruce.  The pink slip's in your name."  John savored the stunned look on his best friend's face.

         Bruce bolted from the car, taking several steps backward.

         Concerned, Johnny got out but didn't pursue.  With a frown, he asked, "Bruce, what's wrong?"

         "Is this a joke?  This is a joke, right?"  Bruce shook his head.  "'Cause it ain't funny, John, and I'm not laughing."

         Smith struggled to conceal the flash of hurt the words caused.  Laying the title and keys on the car's hood, he quietly said, "No joke, Bruce.  It's yours…  If you want it."

         "John, this is way too much, man.  I can't take a gift like this!"  Bruce had seen the hurt in the psychic's eyes and it cut him like a knife, knowing that he'd caused it.  But his conscience wouldn't allow him to accept something so expensive, even though he knew Johnny could afford it.

         The blond reached out and picked up the key ring.

         _Bruce was driving down the road with the top down, singing along with the radio in a surprisingly good tenor voice.  The trees were in full bloom and birds flew lazily overhead…_

         Tossing the keys to the other man, John said, "It wasn't as expensive as you think.  I did most of the mechanical work myself.  Dusty's an expert at restoring old cars.  He's a friend of Walt's, so he gave me a break."

         Bruce looked at the car, weighing the keys in his hand.  "John, I– I don't deserve this, man."

         John shook his head, frustrated.  "That's not what this is about.  You lost your Cruiser because you were trying to do something for _me_.  Now, let me do something for you."

         The other man opened his mouth to speak, but found himself without words for once.

         "C'mon, Bruce…  Please, say yes.  I bought this car with you in mind.  It was never my style, especially now."  Smith patted his bad leg and let his words sink in a moment.  "Besides, if you don't take it, I'm just going to have to store it in a barn somewhere until J.J. is old enough to drive it.  And wouldn't that be a waste of a damned sweet car?"

         "John–"  About to refuse again, Bruce clamped his jaw shut.  Clearly Johnny wanted him to have the car.  And he knew money wasn't an issue for the other man.  So what was stopping him?  Pride?  Was pride worth hurting his best friend?

         _No_ , came the instant answer.  Johnny had seen enough hurt in his lifetime.  This wasn't worth arguing over, not when the blond looked so hopeful and expectant.

         Although it still felt wrong, Bruce finally nodded.  "Okay, you're right, it'd be a crime to just leave this baby sitting in a garage somewhere.  But I want it understood that I'm just keeping it in trust for J.J., okay?  When he gets his license, the car gets turned over to him."

         "You've got a deal, my friend," John assured him, smiling widely.  He knew the car would remain in Bruce's possession, but if it made the other man feel better about accepting it, that was fine.

         Bruce closed the distance between them, pulling Johnny into a tight hug.  "Thanks, man.  I _know_ you know how much I've always wanted a car like this."

         Johnny did know, and that had provided the impetus for him to find the car, and spend the long hours to restore it.  Despite his vision, he'd still worried Bruce might refuse the gift.  He knew it wasn't the normal way to say 'thank you,' but then again, Bruce wasn't an ordinary friend.

         Returning the hug enthusiastically, the psychic murmured, "You're welcome.  Enjoy it, Bruce."

         Dusty came out of the house carrying three glasses of iced tea, two of which he handed to Bruce and John.  "Why don't you show him what we put under the hood?  That'll get him hooked for sure."

         With a nod, Johnny slid into the driver's seat and popped the hood release.  As he got out, Dusty lifted the hood.

         Bruce took a look at the engine and whistled with awe.  "Damn!  That engine's going to get me in trouble with the cops."

         "Is it too much?" John wondered.  "I could always–"

         Bruce slapped his hand away.  "Hey, don't be messin' with my car, man!"

         Johnny grinned as they inspected the car's powerful engine.  That sounded more like the Bruce he knew.  After a few days of driving the car, there was no way J.J. would ever stand a chance of getting the keys.

         And that was exactly the way John had planned it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Six weeks later**

****

         Bruce coughed as he stepped out into the brisk spring air.  The stuffy nose he had woken up with now seemed to be working its way toward a full-fledged cold.

         He sent a mental thank-you to his understanding boss.  After hearing him sneeze through most of the morning, Carly had stepped in when one of his afternoon clients canceled just after lunch.  He only had two other clients coming in and she and the other physical therapist could work them into their own schedules.

         He'd protested at first, but another sneeze from him, and a knowing look from her, made him realize he should take her up on the offer.  A hot shower and a nap sounded like heaven.

         Five minutes later he had signed out and left the building.  Drawing the collar of his leather jacket a bit higher around his neck, the physical therapist shivered as he hurried through the hospital's employee parking lot to his car.

         Bruce shook his head as he approached the gleaming silver Mustang.  Never in his wildest dreams had he believed he'd own a car like this.  It was a gift beyond price, and one that he didn't take lightly.

         The car had somehow shifted things between him and John.  As if the giving and receiving of it had cemented their already strong friendship.

No, not cemented.  That wasn't the right word.  Enhanced?

         As Bruce unlocked the car and got in, he wondered if there actually was a word that could describe the shift in his relationship with Johnny, especially after the events of two nights ago.

         The shiver that coursed through him this time had nothing to do with weather, or illness; likewise the flush that heated his face.

         Relieved that there was no one around to see him, Bruce started up the engine and pulled out of the lot.  He marveled once again at the car's smooth handling.  John and Dusty had done a hell of a job with the restoration.

         Thoughts of the blond brought him back to two nights ago.

It had started out like any of a hundred different nights they had spent in each other's company over the years, sharing pizza and a few beers while watching television…

 

         _They were sitting side-by-side,not unusual for a couple of guys who were close friends, but very unusual for a man with psychic abilities.  Knowing he could be this close to John without the other man freaking out warmed Bruce to the depths of his soul._

_If he never had more than this with John, he figured he could still be content._

_And then John had turned to him, his blue eyes studying his friend closely._

_Bruce had swallowed hard, feeling the stare even though his attention was supposedly focused on the television.  Later, he couldn't even say what they had been watching._

_"Bruce."_

_The soft rasp shot through the younger man like a jolt of electricity.  Keeping his gaze forward, he'd croaked, "Yeah?"_

_"Look at me."  When Bruce didn't comply, John reached out, gently cupping the other man's chin and urging him to turn his head.  "How long?"_

_"W-What do you m-mean, John?"  Bruce silently cursed his nervous stutter._

_"You know exactly what I mean," the blond accused softly._

_Bruce turned away, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees._

_"Talk to me, Bruce."_

_The other man shrugged helplessly.  "It doesn't matter how long.  It's not as if anything could ever come of it."_

_John kept his distance, not wanting to spook the other man.  "What makes you say that?"_

_"You're straight," Bruce scoffed.  "That's a little tough to get around, y'know?"_

_"Bruce."  John sighed when he got no reaction.  "Bruce, damn it, look at me."_

_Finally the younger man complied, his expression wary and guarded._

_"Okay, I won't argue that I've never looked at a guy and thought, 'Wow, he's sexy!'" Smith admitted.  "But I do know that the way I've been feeling about you lately is anything but platonic."_

_"I don't believe this."  Pushing to his feet, Bruce paced the width of the room.  "So, you're telling me that, although you were straight before the coma, now you think you could be gay?  Or maybe Bi?"  Sarcasm dripped from his words._

_Johnny raked his fingers through his hair, momentarily frustrated.  Deciding that sometimes words complicated the issue, he chose to take action.  Pushing to his feet, he walked across the room so he stood directly in front of Bruce._

_"I'm saying," he husked, "that sometimes it just doesn't matter – male, female, gender is irrelevant when the heart's involved."  Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed Bruce, trying to put all the emotions he'd been feeling for the other man into the gesture.  "I'm saying my heart's involved, Bruce.  I need you to trust me when I tell you that I've fallen in love with you, and that I'm not going to change my mind."_

         Even now, two days later, the words still made Bruce's heart race.  They had agreed to take it slow and not rush into intimacy before they were both sure it was what they wanted.  Well, Bruce already knew his answer, but no way did he want to rush John.  Making love would be a big step.  Hell, _leap_.

         Given how the man kissed, it would be so worth the wait, too.

         He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Apparently he wasn't so sick his body couldn't react.  _Down, boy!  All in good time.  John's time.  Just remember that.  You spook him and I will not forgive you._

         Bruce shook his head.  Talking to his dick?  Okay, maybe he was sicker than he thought.

         Trying to distract himself from such thoughts, he focused on the drive.  It was a pleasant New England spring day – bright sunshine, clear skies.  The trees were just starting to bud.

         Movement in his rearview mirror caught his attention and he looked up to check it out.  The car behind him was way too close for comfort.  Noticing a passing lane coming up, Bruce slowed down, giving the other driver the chance to go around.

         To his surprise, they didn't.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

         Cap'n Jack's Grill on a Friday night had become almost a ritual for John and Bruce.  The bar's patronage was diverse enough that Bruce's presence went unremarked, and even John as a local celebrity was left pretty much alone.

         And then there was the food.  The seafood was freshly caught and the steaks were of the best quality.  Cap'n Jack's also was the only establishment in town that sold Red Stag beer, brewed locally.

         Sitting in their usual booth toward the back, John checked his watch again with a frown.  Normally Bruce beat him here but it was 6:15, and no sign of the man.  Pulling out his cell phone, he checked and found there was no new messages either.

Dialing home, he keyed in the remote for his machine only to hear nothing there either.  "Bruce, you blowin' me off, man?" he wondered, knowing deep down the other man wouldn't do that.

         Phone calls to his friend's cell and apartment got no answer either.

         Sliding out of the booth, John approached the bar and signaled the bartender.

         "What can I get ya, John?" the grizzled old man asked.

         "Bruce hasn't called and left a message for me, has he?" the blond wondered.

         "Nope, haven't heard a word from him since he was here last week.  Haven't seen him around, either."  Hearing a call from the opposite end of the bar, Jack nodded to John and walked away.

         "Damn," the psychic muttered, trying to ignore the growing knot in his gut.

         Returning to his booth, John stared at his phone for a few moments before making a decision.

         Knowing it was unlikely, he decided to call the physical therapy department.  Bruce had mentioned staff shortages between illness and vacations; maybe he had to cover for one of the other therapists.

         The phone rang five times and John was about to give up when a rushed female voice answered, "Hello!"

         "Carly?  It's John Smith.  Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if Bruce was still there."

         "Bruce?  No, he left hours ago," she answered.  "I was about to lock up and leave myself."

         "Oh, don't let me keep you, then.  Thanks."  Disconnecting the call, John shoved the phone back in his pocket.

         Smith fought down a growing sense of dread; he hadn't yet seen anything to indicate Bruce was in trouble, so why was he so worried?  There was probably a simple explanation.  Maybe he ran out of gas or had a flat tire and he was out of cell phone range.

         The only problem with that theory was that Johnny knew his friend's cell phone covered the distance between his apartment and Cleaves Mills without effort.  There were no blackoutareas.

         Okay, so maybe his cell battery went dead.

         Not likely.  Bruce was meticulous about keeping his phone charged at all times.

         Tapping the table several times in a nervous rhythm, Johnny finally came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to get any answers sitting here, waiting.  Leaving a message with Jack to have Bruce call him on his cell if he showed up, the psychic hurried out into the chill evening.

         As he stepped onto the sidewalk a group of six or seven young adults strolled past.  One of them bumped into Johnny, mumbling a hasty apology before moving on.

         _Beat up, rusty old compact, careening out of control.  Wait!  Slow down!  There's an embankment– Too late.  Through the guardrail and tumbling downward_.

         Johnny shook off the aftermath, wincing as he rubbed his temples.  Looking up, he saw the kids were only a few yards away.

         "Hey!  Hey, do any of you own an old rusty compact?" he called out to them.

         Most of the kids stopped, turning to look at Johnny.  The obvious leader, a well built young man with black hair, eyed Smith with disdain.

         "Even if we did, Pops, it's none of your business," he sneered.  Turning back to his friends, he said, "C'mon, let's get going."

         "Look, believe me or don't believe me, it's your choice," Johnny snapped.  "But that car is going to be in an accident soon, a bad one."

         "Hey, that's the psychic guy," one of the other boys murmured to his girlfriend.

         She apparently passed word to her friends as the other girls were soon laughing nervously.

         "What psychic?" the pack leader mocked.  "He's just a fraud, like all the others you see on TV."

         Knowing they weren't going to take him seriously, Johnny shook his head and walked away in the direction he'd parked his Jeep.  They weren't worth his time if they weren't going to believe him, and he still needed to find out what was going on with Bruce.

         With the knot in his stomach still growing, Johnny decided Bruce's apartment should be his next destination.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Pulling into the lot of Bruce's building and parking, Johnny looked around for the Mustang.  There was no sign of it, not that he really expected to see it here.

         Reaching into his wallet, he dug out the key Bruce had given him last year.  He had never had occasion to use it before now.

         Tossing the cold piece of metal in his hand a couple times, the blond walked over to the main entrance and let himself in.  Fortunately the elevator was working today, and Johnny waited impatiently for it to arrive.

         Stepping out onto the fourth floor, he turned left and went to the end of the hall.  Heart pounding, he knocked firmly on the door.

         "Bruce?" he called out.  "Bruce, are you in there?"

         When he got no response, he inserted the key in the lock and turned it.  There was no resistance, and the chain wasn't on, an almost sure sign Bruce wasn't home.

         Switching on a lamp, Johnny again called out for his friend.  Upon getting no answer, he prowled the few rooms, searching for some sign of Bruce.  But there was nothing to be found.

         Some dishes and a coffee mug in the kitchen sink indicated Bruce had eaten breakfast, but nothing since then.  The small stove was cold with nothing in the trash to indicate he might have eaten takeout.

         Deciding to take a better look around while he was here, in case something sparked a vision, Johnny headed for the living room.  The small apartment was spotless, though obviously well lived in.

One entire wall of the living room held floor to ceiling bookcases and they were filled to capacity.  The titles covered topics ranging from EMT training to true crime mysteries to comparative religion.  One entire shelf was dedicated to books on coma victims, brain injuries and psychic phenomena.  That made Johnny wince while, at the same time, it warmed his heart.  Bless Bruce and his ever-curious mind.

         He saved the bedroom for last, knowing it would be the hardest for him.  He was truly reluctant to intrude here.  One of the promises he had given Bruce early on was that he would never intentionally use his abilities to violate Bruce's privacy.  And yet here he was, about to do just that.

         He looked at the large bed, imagining Bruce and himself entwined together.  The thought brought a heated flush to his cheeks.  He knew eventually they would make love but there hadn't been time since that first kiss, just a couple days ago.

         Carefully avoiding any contact with the bed, Johnny walked around the room, his hand hovering over various items.  Finally, he stopped by the nightstand on the far side of the bed.  On a shelf underneath he caught sight of a leather-bound book.

Intrigued, he pulled it out and opened it.  He immediately recognized Bruce's handwriting and realized he held his friend's journal in his hands.

         Taking a deep breath, he tried to reassure himself this wasn't a deliberate breach of his friend's privacy.  He would never think to do this if he wasn't totally convinced the other man was in some kind of trouble.

         He found the last handwritten page.  Not surprisingly, he caught a flash of his own name written there.  But there was nothing else that gave any clue to his friend's current whereabouts.

         Hesitantly, he closed the book and touched the cover.

         Immediately the psychic found himself sucked into a maelstrom of fear and blind panic.  _Bruce?  Bruce!_

         _Oh God, my head hurts.  What the hell happened to me?  John!  Can't see.  Wait, I'm moving!  That can't be good.  No.  No!  Oh God no!_

         The sudden blackness threw John out of the vision and he collapsed to the floor, panting harshly.

         Once he was reasonably in charge of himself again, Johnny reached into his pocket for his cell phone.  He hit the speed dial for the Bannerman household as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.

         Although he didn't know particulars, of one thing he was absolutely, bone-chillingly certain:  Bruce was in serious trouble.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Walt opened the front door before the second knock.  Sarah and J.J. were in the kitchen, working on homework so he ushered John into the living room.

         "What's going on, John?  You mentioned something about Bruce being in trouble."

         "That's right."  Smith paced the room, leaning heavily on his cane.  Quickly he explained about the missed dinner and his efforts to track Bruce's whereabouts that afternoon.

         "That's not like Bruce, to not show and not leave a message," the sheriff mused.  "On the phone you mentioned something about a vision?"

         The blond nodded.  "Bruce had this journal in his apartment.  When I touched it, I could feel Bruce panicking.  He was hurt and he didn't know where he was, but he was moving."

         "Damn."  Walt rubbed his chin.  "That's not a lot to go on, John."

         "I know!  You think I don't realize that, Walt?"  Johnny continued his agitated pacing.  "No one has seen or heard from him since early afternoon.  The weather has turned; it's going to rain tonight.  If he's out there somewhere, hurt–"

         "Whoa, whoa!  Let's not put the cart in front of the horse just yet, okay?  After all, we don't know for certain that's there's anything even wrong."  Walt knew even as he said the words that they were a mistake.

         Johnny whirled, his expression furious.  "What proof do you want, Walt?  Bruce's car in a ditch?  His body in the morgue?  What?"

         The other man winced.  He knew how close John and Bruce were.  He had seen Bruce panic on the occasions when John couldn't be located.  Small wonder the reverse was also true.  Walt also knew who he would bet could cope better if the worst happened.

         Grabbing his cordless phone from the coffee table, Walt hit a few buttons then waited for the other party to answer.

         "Roscoe, it's Walt, I need you to do me a favor.  Put out an APB on Bruce's car.  Yeah, _that_ Bruce.  Silver Mustang convertible.  License…"  He looked at Johnny.

         "SDZ-593," the blond supplied without pause.

         Walt repeated the information to his deputy.  "Call me if you find anything, okay?"  He disconnected the call.

         "Thanks, Walt."

         "We need to establish a timeline for Bruce's whereabouts today.  Think you can help with that?"  When the other man nodded, Walt said, "Good.  Have a seat.  I'm going to get us some coffee first."

         Johnny sat down on the sofa.  A strong wind rattled the window behind him and he shivered, thinking about Bruce possibly somewhere out in the elements, hurt and alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         An hour later the two men had pieced together a rough idea of Bruce's day, up until the time he had left work.  After that, no one had seen him.  He hadn't stopped for gas, hadn't called anyone and no one had called him.

         "Damn it, a man can't just disappear, Walt," Johnny snapped, getting up to pace the floor.

         "I know."  The sheriff felt helpless.  There was little they could do besides look for Bruce's car unless someone gave them a tip.

         "Walt, I'm going to put J.J. to bed," Sarah said from the doorway.

         "Okay, I'll be right there."  Turning to their friend, Walt said, "I'll be back in a minute, John."

         Johnny nodded, waving the other man off.  While he waited, he studied the Bannerman family pictures proudly on display throughout the room.  They no longer pained him the way they had when he'd first learned of Sarah's new life.  Well, new to him, anyway.

         Although he knew he would always love Sarah, Johnny recognized it was a different kind of love.  She was family, but not in the way that a lover would be.  Not in the way he felt about Bruce.

         Taking a steadying breath, he continued looking at the photos.  Spotting one of J.J. as a baby, he walked over to the end table to pick it up.  He inadvertently brushed against a flashlight sitting next to the picture and gasped.

         _Damp.  Cold.  Dark.  It had rained recently.  There was crashing in the bushes behind him.  He reached out to touch the object in front of him and was immediately swamped by fear and pain.  "Hurry!  He's in here!"_

         And just as quickly he was back in the Bannerman living room, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over him.  Gasping for air, Johnny sank to the floor, trying to sort through the jumble of information he'd received.

         _Oh God.  Bruce…_ Although nothing from the vision indicated for certain that it was connected to the physical therapist, Johnny knew on an instinctive level he'd seen where Bruce was.  Only it had been too brief for him to identify anything.

         "Bruce," he whispered.

         "John?  Hey, John, you okay?"  Walt rushed into the room, kneeling at the psychic's side but carefully not touching him.  "What happened?  Did you see something?"

         "Yeah, something," the other man murmured.  He staggered to his feet.  "It was dark.  It had rained, and I think we were in the woods somewhere."

         "You muttered Bruce's name.  Did you see him?" the sheriff persisted.

         "No, not exactly.  He was trapped somewhere near where we were.  I could feel it."  Johnny shook his head.  "I reached out to touch something and I knew he was there, Walt."

         "But we still don't know where he is," Walt said flatly.

         Before Johnny could answer, the sheriff's phone rang.

         "Bannerman," he answered.  His expression turned grim.  "You're sure, Roscoe?  Okay, notify the parents of any minors and have them meet us at the station.  Keep the kids there until John and I get there.  Fifteen minutes, tops."

         "What's going on?" Johnny asked.

         "Roscoe responded to a neighbor's call about some kids ripping up Old Man Jackson's field," Walt explained.  "When he got there and started checking out the cars, he recognized one of them.  John, it's Bruce's Mustang."

         The psychic grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

         Walt took slightly longer since he had to let Sarah know what was going on.  When he got outside he found Johnny sitting in the passenger seat of his cruiser, tapping his leg impatiently.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         It took less than fifteen minutes for Walt to reach the crime scene.  There were several cars parked in the open field, but only one of them, a silver Mustang, was of any interest to Johnny.

         The psychic approached the car hesitantly.  Walt walked beside him, keeping an eye on the small crowd of teens and young adults who stood under the watchful eyes of three of his deputies.

         Johnny stopped short, expelling a sharp breath.

         "John?  Something wrong?" Walt asked, frowning.

         "I've seen some of those kids before."

         "Well, most of them grew up around here.  What's so strange about that?" the sheriff wondered.

         Johnny shook his head vigorously.  "No, it's not that.  Earlier tonight, when I was leaving Cap'n Jack's, I bumped into a group of kids.  I got a vision off one of them, Walt."

         "A vision?  What kind of vision?"  The hair on Walt's neck stood on end.  This couldn't be good.

         Johnny swallowed hard.  "I saw a beat up, rusty compact go through a guardrail and down an embankment."

         Bannerman glanced at him, startled, then looked at Bruce's car.  He knew by the worried expression on Johnny's face that they were thinking along the same lines.  "Damn.  I'm going to go talk to them.  Why don't you see if you can get anything from Bruce's car?  The two things could be totally unrelated."

         Johnny nodded, though he didn't look convinced.  His instincts were screaming that the earlier vision had everything to do with Bruce's disappearance.  The knot in his gut tightened as he headed for the Mustang.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Walt strode toward the waiting teens, taking in their expressions as he did so, recognizing the sullen and resentful looks of a few that probably meant he'd get little useful information from them.  It was the ones who looked scared or nervous that he would have to hope could be convinced to talk.

As he approached, one of his deputies pointed to one of the teenage boys in the group.  "That's the one who was driving the Mustang, Sheriff."

Bannerman focused on the kid.  Damn.  The surly expression didn't bode well for his chances of getting information.  Nevertheless, for Bruce – and for John – he had to try.  He motioned for the kid to step closer.  "What's your name, son?"

         "Jake."  The young man took two steps closer but kept his gaze averted.

         "You're Matt Sollensky's boy, aren't you?" Walt asked, taking a closer look.  Well that was definitely going to complicate things.  Great.

         Matthew Sollensky was heir to his grandfather's lumber mill fortune.  Through investments and stock trading he had increased that fortune.  He headed the town council and his opinion carried a lot of weight around Cleaves Mills and the surrounding area.

         Jake snorted derisively.  "Yeah, and just wait until he finds out I'm being hassled by what passes for the law in this county."

         "Hassled?  Roscoe, has anyone been hassling this gentleman?"  The sheriff turned to his head deputy, obviously expecting an answer.

         "No, sir."

         "There, you see?  It's just a simple misunderstanding."  Walt nodded to the car Johnny was inspecting.  He tried to keep his tone light and non-confrontational.  "I just need some information on that sweet Mustang you were driving.  You see, I know it doesn't belong to you, son."

         Jake shrugged.  "We found the car abandoned by the side of the road."

         "What road?" Bannerman pressed.

         "Somewhere between Bangor and Cleaves Mills, I don't know exactly.  At first we figured it broke down and the driver went for help.  We stopped to see if we could find the problem."  The young man looked pleased with himself.

         "That's very Samaritan of you.  Keep going."

         "Well, that's where it gets strange.  You see, there was nothing wrong with the car."  Sollensky pulled a remorseful look.  "I know I shouldn't have done it, but it was just such a cool ride!  I couldn't just leave it by the side of the road like that.  After all, the owner obviously didn't care about it."

         Deputy Carl Miller beckoned his boss.  "Hey, Walt, come take a look at this."

         "Keep an eye on him," Walt instructed Roscoe before striding over to join Miller.  "What have you got, Carl?"

         The passenger side of the vehicle faced Roscoe and Sollensky, and Walt found himself grateful for that as Miller took him around to the driver's side.

         Keeping his voice low, the deputy murmured, "Johnny found a dent in the rear bumper and called me over.  I decided to check out the rest of the car and found this."

         Miller shone the beam from his flashlight on the driver's side door, clearly spotlighting the drops of blood on the window.

         "Damn," the sheriff growled.

         "Oh God…"  Johnny had approached at the deputy's call and now stared fixedly at the bloodstain.  He reached out to touch it, his hand trembling visibly.

         _Hey!  What's your problem, man?  Following me so damned close.  Back off!  Oh, hell no!  Tell me you didn't just ram my car.  What the–?_

_He's forcing me off the road?!_

_Oh damn!  Hey, take it easy._

_Ooof._

_Okay, that's it.  Ha.  You didn't see that one comin', did ya, sucker!  Here's another one._

_Shit, okay, that one hurt.  No more Mr. Nice Guy for you, asshole…_

         "Bruce!" Johnny gasped as the vision abruptly went to black.

         "What did you see, John?" Walt demanded.

         The psychic pulled himself together with effort, then said, "Bruce was driving.  Someone hit him from behind, then forced him off the road.  He– The impact dazed him.  I saw hands pulling him from the car and slamming him against it.  He tried to fight, but he was outnumbered and he blacked out."  Johnny winced.  "I don't think he went down easy, Walt."

         "Knowing Bruce, I'm sure you're right."  Johnny's vision confirmed Walt's fear that Bruce's disappearance was no accident.

         "You should check the kids for bruises," the blond growled.  "Especially the driver."

         "We'll do that," Bannerman assured him.  "For now, why don't you go wait in my car?  I've got to make arrangements to get this gang back to the station."

         The blond nodded.  As he turned toward the sheriff's car, he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye.  Turning toward the source, he saw Jake tossing a key ring into the air.  His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the pearl and onyx Yin/Yang symbol on the ring.  He had bought it as part of Bruce's birthday present last year.

         Anger surged through him and he stalked up to the youth.  Unimpressed, the boy tossed the keys again, only to have Johnny snatch them out of the air.  Pocketing the keys, he then grabbed Jake's shirt, hauling him forward.  Staring the younger man in the face, he hissed, "Where's Bruce?"

         Unmoved, Jake sneered, "I don't know no Bruce, man.  Sorry."

         The cocky attitude pushed John over the edge.  He drew his arm back, about to let fly with a punch.

         "Whoa, John!  Not a good idea, my friend," Walt advised, quickly intercepting his friend's fist.

         Turning to Roscoe, Walt nodded him over.  "Get this wiseass out of my sight, would you?  And see that the rest of them get rides, too."

         "With pleasure, boss."  To Jake, Roscoe snapped, "C'mon, we'll see how you like this particular car.  It's a 2001 Chevy…"

         "You don't scare me, pig.  The only thing you can charge me with at this point is joyriding.  My dad will have me out before the ink is dry on the fingerprint card."  Still, Jake went along with no resistance.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Walt turned back to Johnny, not surprised to see the psychic had pulled Bruce's keys back out of his pocket.  He watched the blond touch each one separately, hoping and yet half-afraid of what his friend might see.  Finally, Johnny touched the yin/yang symbol and gasped.

         _What the hell's goin' on?  Shit!  Why the fuck did you do that, man?  Now my nose is bleedin'!  What d'you mean get out?  This is my car!  Girl screamin'… ain't makin' my head feel any better.  Oh, you want a fun car?  Get your own, pal.  Damn, they're just kids!  Why can't I fight them off?  No!  No way I'm going in there._

         "John?  Hey, John!"  Walt sounded panicked.  He had little experience in dealing with the psychic during a vision.  That was usually Bruce's territory.  Only Bruce wasn't here; he was.

         Johnny shuddered violently, then dragged in a deep lungful of air, expelling it slowly.  He waved off Walt's support.

         "More of the same.  Jake was definitely the one driving.  He had a girl and another friend with him.  They wanted Bruce's car."  The psychic swallowed hard.  "Jake slammed Bruce's head against the steering wheel, then he pulled him out and…"

         "Then what, John?"  The sheriff fought to keep his voice level; he knew he couldn't jump to conclusions but the horrified expression on Johnny's face didn't make it easy.

         "They shoved him into the trunk of the other car."  The psychic gasped as the implication of his vision began to sink in.  "Oh God," he breathed, his haunted gaze meeting Walt's.

         "Talk to me, John," Bannerman demanded.  "Tell me what you're seeing."

         "The car… the one they put him in?  It was the one from before."

         "Before?"  Shaking his head, the other man said, "You've lost me."

         "From this afternoon," the blond clarified.  "The car I saw going over an embankment.  They dumped the car, Walt, with Bruce in it!"

         Johnny's words set the sheriff's stomach roiling.  He had seen a lot of ugliness in his years working in law enforcement.  Maine's official tagline of "Vacationland" and the average tourist's belief that the state was filled with friendly people was mostly well deserved.  But Walt had seen the flip side, too.  The human race's ability to turn on itself never ceased to astonish him.

         This, however, cut deeper than usual.  It was personal.  Bruce was a friend, not some passing tourist whose name Walt would forget after typing the report and filing it away.

         Bannerman turned in time to see Jake Sollensky being ushered into a patrol car.  The young man grinned as if he didn't have a care in the world, grinned as though he never even considered the possibility that life could be cruel and often damned unfair.

         And yet Walt knew, because Johnny had _seen_ , that the teen was responsible for an unprovoked assault on an innocent man.  An innocent _friend_.  And that assault might well become murder if they couldn't find Bruce in time.

_Damn, I wonder how Sarah would feel about moving to someplace safer… like maybe Alaska._

         Pulling his mind back to the present, Walt called to one of his deputies, "Mitch, get that Mustang towed to the impound yard and get Forensics to go over it with a fine tooth comb.  If a flea sneezed on it, I want to know.  Got it?"

         "A flea?"  Johnny looked amused despite the situation.

         Walt's glare was sufficient to quell any further remarks on that topic.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         A thick silence filled Walt's squad car on the drive back to the station.  The sheriff was at a loss for words for once in his career.  He sensed that anything he said would not be taken well by his passenger.

         "We've got to find him, Walt," Johnny finally murmured.  "If he's out there in this…"  The blond shook his head.

         "He's tough, John.  He'll be okay.  And we'll find him, don't worry," Bannerman tried to assure.

         "In time?" Johnny questioned.  At Walt's sharp glance, he continued, "Bruce left work early because he was sick."

         "Damn."  Walt's gut lurched again.  If Bruce was anywhere out in this weather, already ill, his chances of making it through the night decreased hourly.

         "Go ahead, Walt.  Say it," Johnny ordered.

         "What do you mean?"  The sheriff honestly looked puzzled.

         "I know we can't search until dawn, not without some idea of what direction to look, right?"  The blond knew the answer but he had to hear it anyway.

         Walt carefully considered his next words, then realized he couldn't lie to Johnny.  Not just because the other man was a psychic, but because he was a friend, too.

         "Even if one of the kids does give us a direction, the car went off the road, John."  The sheriff's voice was heavy with regret.  "There's no way we'd be able to spot it in the dark."

         "I'll find a way, Walt," Johnny vowed quietly.  "He's alive, I'm sure of it.  My visions would have shown me otherwise.  And as long as he's alive, we have to keep looking."

         "Just point me in a direction, and I'll be more than happy to help," the sheriff offered.

         "Thanks.  That means a lot."  Johnny settled more deeply into the passenger seat and silence descended between the two as they approached city limits.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         By the time Walt reached the station he had a plan formulated.  Jake obviously had no intention of telling them anything.  However, one of the other kids just might be willing to give up some information.  Hopefully that would point his guys in the right direction to search for Bruce.

         Now, he just had to figure out which kid might be scared enough to actually talk.

         There were three girls who had been brought in.  Two had already been questioned and released.  The third, Darcy Gilliam, had been named as the girlfriend of Jake's best friend, Tommy.  Hopefully she could convince her boyfriend to give up some information, since the other kids said Jack seldom went anywhere without his pal.

         A loud clap of thunder made the Sheriff wince.  It was a potent reminder that they were in a race against time and the elements.

         Walking into the room where Darcy and a female officer were waiting, Walt nodded to the door, indicating the officer could leave.

         Once he was alone with Darcy, Walt grabbed the chair across from her, turned it around and straddled it.  He studied her carefully, trying to decide the best approach to use.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks tear-stained.

         "I've never been in trouble before," she quietly told him.  "My parents are so going to kill me when they get the call."

         "You can help yourself out a lot if you tell us what happened earlier tonight," Walt suggested.

         "Earlier?"  She looked puzzled for a moment, then her expression cleared.  "I– I, uh, I'm not sure I should be telling you anything."

         "You're eighteen, Darcy.  You don't need a parent with you.  By not telling us what you know, that's obstruction."

         "Oh God."  The girl chewed her bottom lip worriedly.

         "You can also be charged as an accessory.  You'll end up doing hard time."  Walt paused a moment to let that sink in.  "You seem like you're a nice girl, Darcy.  I'm willing to bet that you got dragged into this unwittingly.  I can help you, but only if you tell me what you know about how Jake got that Mustang."

         Darcy considered his words, then took a shaky breath.  "Tommy and I didn't even want to be there.  I've been trying to get Tommy to stop hanging around Jake so much, but this is definitely the last straw.  What Jake did to that poor man…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Johnny paced the hallway restlessly.  Surely the fact that Walt had been in there so long meant he was getting information?

         A loud crack of thunder momentarily drowned out the sound of rain pelting the roof.  The storm had been raging for well over an hour now.

         Knowing Bruce was out there somewhere in this mess filled Johnny with fear and desperation.  _God, Bruce, you have to be okay.  I can't lose you, man.  Not when I'm just beginning to realize what we can be to each other._

         Memories washed over him, good and bad.  Bruce's patience as they worked through Johnny's physical therapy.  Uncounted times of shared laughter, and even tears.  The sharp smell of gasoline replaced by the tang of blood as Bruce untied him from the tree where he would have burned.  Their first kiss.

         They belonged together.  Johnny had never been so sure of anything in his adult life.  Bruce was sunlight to his shadow, the steadying hand he could always count on when his world tilted out of focus around him.  He could no longer picture his life without the other man in it.

         _Why did I hold back so long?_ he railed at himself.  Bruce willingly let him set the pace for their relationship, knowing Johnny needed time to adjust to this new level of intimacy. 

         With intense clarity, Johnny realized what he had really known all along.  He and Bruce belonged together in all ways.  And now he had quite possibly lost the chance to ever tell Bruce just how much he loved him.

         _Be okay, Bruce.  Please, be okay!_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         "John?"

         The psychic heard the concern in the tone and realized Walt had called him more than once.  He turned to face the sheriff, his expression darkening as he saw the young woman standing behind Walt.

         "Do we have anything yet?" he demanded.

         "It's not exact, but we do have a place to start – Stoneridge Road."  Seeing the frown on the blond's face, the sheriff nodded.  "I know, it's still a needle in a haystack, but at least now we know which haystack.  Darcy here is going to come with us to see if she can at least narrow down where it might have happened."

         Johnny checked his watch.  1 a.m.  No one had heard from Bruce in twelve hours.  He closed his eyes briefly against the wave of despair. 

         "C'mon, John.  Let's get you a slicker and then we'll head out."  Walt carefully didn't touch the psychic, instead waving his hand in the direction of his office.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Deputy Carl Miller took his time as he drove the stretch of Stoneridge Road between Cleaves Mills and Bangor.  His boss sat in the passenger seat, shining a powerful halogen light along the side of the road.

         Johnny Smith sat in the back seat with the young woman from the drag racing site.

         "There!"  The psychic pointed.  "Stop the car."

         "I see it," Walt said, keeping the light trained on the break in the guardrail.

         Johnny was out of the car almost before it stopped moving.  Pulling the hood of the slick over his head, he limped over to the rail and touched it.

         _Alcoholic haze.  Damn, shouldn't have had that last martini.  This was our first new car.  Sam's going to kill me.  Where the hell am I, anyway?_

         Johnny drew his hand back, trembling slightly.

         "What did you see?" Bannerman questioned.

         The blond shook his head as he returned to the car.  "It wasn't here.  Some drunk did this."

         "C'mon and get in.  We'll keep looking."

         Johnny crawled gratefully back into the car's warmth.  He checked his watch.  It was now 2:15 a.m.  _And all is definitely not well,_ he couldn't help thinking.

         Walt had called for assistance from the state troopers, but they couldn't get anyone in the area until dawn.

         Gut instinct told Johnny that would be far too late to help Bruce.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         They drove another mile in silence before Darcy reached out her hand, not quite touching Johnny.

         "Touch me," she quietly requested.

         Johnny instinctively pulled back.  "What?"

         "Touch me!"  She shook her head impatiently.  "Look, you see things when you touch other people, right?  Other things?  Maybe by touching me you can see something that will help you find your friend."

         Johnny wanted to protest, but he knew she had a point.  He realized he had been unintentionally avoiding her, perhaps afraid on some level that his vision would show him a Bruce beyond help.  Just the thought of that possibility hurt.

         Taking a steadying breath, the psychic reached out and touched her arm.

         _Sheer slate cliffs to the left, and a steep drop-off on the right.  Dizzying speed.  Horns honking.  A blur of color.  And then blackness._

         Blur of color?  John focused, concentrating on slowing the vision and breaking it down.  There!  Graffiti Cliff.  Bruce had passed the folk landmark.  And that was at least six miles down the road yet.

         Shaking his head to clear it, Johnny snapped, "Walt, try Graffiti Cliff."

         "What's that?" Darcy asked.

         "It's a sheer cliff face that the kids use for graffiti," Deputy Miller explained.  "It's down the road a ways."

         As they approached the area, Miller once again slowed the car while Walt flooded the shoulder with light.

         "Stop," Walt abruptly commanded his deputy.

         "What is it?  What do you see?"  Johnny was frustrated.  There was no guardrail along this stretch of the road.

         The sheriff got out, not surprised when Johnny joined him.  He aimed the light at an old fir tree, spotlighting the recent deep scarring.

         "You see that?"

         "It would be about the right height for a car," Johnny mused.  He couldn't get close to the tree.  It was rooted further down the hillside and was some distance from the shoulder of the road.  "Walt, shine that here on the ground," the psychic requested.  When the other man complied, Johnny spotted what he needed.  "Tire tracks."

         Walt watched as the blond knelt next to the set of tracks and hesitantly reached out to touch them.  Before he could connect, he drew his hand back as if stung.

         "John?"

         Blue eyes met his, blinking rapidly.

         "I can't do this, Walt," Johnny whispered, shaking his head.  "What if–?"  His throat closed up, making it impossible to speak.

         The sheriff knelt across from his friend.  Keeping his voice soft, he said, "You have to, John.  What if this isn't Bruce?  We need to know so we can keep looking."

         Inhaling sharply, Johnny reached shaking fingers to touch the imprint.

         _Grey dawn.  Fog.  Bottom of a ravine.  There it is, the rusty compact!_

_Turning, he took in the rest of the scene.  Paramedics stowed away their gear, cleaning up the debris left from their attempts.  Johnny turned to further survey the scene and his heart froze at the sight of a body bag being zipped shut over the face of an African-American male with a diamond earring.  Bruce?_

_No!  Bruce!_

_Distantly he heard one of the medics lament, "Too bad we didn't find him about an hour sooner.  He might have had a fighting chance."_

         The strong emotion shoved Johnny out of the vision and he stumbled backwards, away from the source.

         "John?"  Walt reached out, but didn't touch.  "What did you see?"

         He shook his head, unable to put it into words.

         Haunted eyes met his and the sheriff sucked in a sharp breath.  "No."  _God, not Bruce!_

         "He's down there," the psychic whispered hoarsely.  "We have to find him soon, Walt, or he's not gonna make it.  Dawn."

         "John, you know I want to find him too, but I can't ask anyone to go down there looking in the dark!" Walt protested.  "It's way too dangerous.  I'm sorry."

         "Fuck sorry, Walt!" Johnny snarled, pushing wearily to his feet.  "Bruce is down there somewhere and if we don't get to him soon, he's going to die!  If you won't help me, I'll go on my own."  Before Walt could protest, Johnny grabbed the light from his hand.

         The sheriff grabbed his arm, gripping tightly and shaking it.  "Think, John!  If you go tearing off down there and you get hurt or worse, what good is that going to do Bruce?  He wouldn't want that!  And he'd be damned pissed off if you did."

         "Damn it, Walt, you know as well as I do that if our positions were reversed, Bruce would do the same thing!" Johnny snapped.  "He wouldn't take no for an answer and you wouldn't expect him to.  Just because I walk with a cane doesn't mean I'm not capable of searching."

         The shadow in John's eyes reminded Walt of what he'd seen.  He knew the other man was right; time was running out for Bruce.  _Sarah's probably going to kill me for this, if I survive.  And then she'll kill Johnny too._

         "Carl, get on the radio and get another car out here ASAP," Walt tersely instructed.  "Alert EMS that we're probably going to need their help with a car accident victim who's possibly hypothermic."

         "Roger that."  Carl quickly made the calls. 

         While waiting for the other squad car, Walt got out the rope and harnesses so he and Johnny could be ready for their descent down the embankment.  

         Within ten minutes a second cruiser pulled up behind Carl.  Deputy Roscoe Jones got out and joined them.

         "Have you found Bruce?"

         "Not yet, but we found where he went off the road," Walt answered.  "We're going down to take a look so I want you and Carl belaying the ropes for us."

         A few minutes later Walt and Johnny were cautiously descending the embankment, occasionally calling for more slack.  There were signs that something heavy had crashed through here, and recently.

         Johnny's heart pounded wildly, and not just because of the exertion.  _Hang on, Bruce!  We're on the way,_ he silently urged.

         As the embankment began to level out, Walt started yelling Bruce's name.  Johnny quickly followed suit.

         Radioing above, Walt requested more slack so they could investigate the surrounding area.  Hearing Johnny swear, he swung his light in the blond's direction.

         "You okay?" he asked.

         "Yeah, just got something in my boot."  As Johnny went to set his light down, he caught the beam's reflection off of a metal object.  Heart now in his throat, he deliberately aimed the light in that direction again.  There!

         "Walt, I think I found him!"

         The sheriff turned and quickly joined him, shining his light on the object.  They moved some of the brush aside to get a better look.  The car was stuck between two trees, submerged up to the front seat in the water of a pond.  Had the trees been any further apart the vehicle might never have been found.

         "Rusty compact!" Johnny shouted.  "This has to be it.  Bruce!  Bruce, can you hear me?  Bruce!"

         "J-John?" came the weak response.  Anything further was cut off by a bout of intense coughing.

         Walt and Johnny exchanged worried looks as they heard the cough settle into a hoarse wheeze.

         "Shit," Walt cursed, grabbing for his radio.  "Roscoe, we found him but he's in bad shape.  Radio the EMT's and then get down here.  We're gonna need your help.  Bring a lock punch and some blankets."  He barely heard his deputy's reply as he shifted his focus back to John and the precariously balanced car.

         "Bruce?"  Johnny's tone was anxious.  "Bruce, just hang on, man!"

         "J-J-John…"  The answering voice weakly stuttered.  "C-c-cold."

         "John's right, Bruce, help is on the way."  Walt felt awkward talking to a car, but he chimed in anyway.  "You just have to keep fighting.  Can you hear me, Bruce?  Keep fighting!  We'll have you out as soon as possible."

         This time there was no response.  Johnny glanced at Walt, panic clear in his expression.

         "Where the hell is Roscoe?" the blond snapped.  "We can't wait any longer; Bruce doesn't have that kind of time."  He pounded on the trunk several times, hoping to jar the latch loose.

         "John, no!"  Heart in his throat, Bannerman watched as the small car rocked dangerously.  "You're going to tip it over!"

         Pulling out his radio, Walt hit the send button.  "Carl, you up there?"

         "Yeah, boss," came the quick response.  "What do you need?"

         "Tie off my rope to the patrol car.  Do it quick.  I'm going to tie my end off on this car to try to keep it from moving."

         "Roger that."  A few minutes later, the deputy responded.  "All clear, Walt."

         The sheriff moved quickly, untying the rope that he had used to climb down and cautiously wiggling under the car just enough to tie off the rear axle.

         Johnny had kept an eye on the vehicle, making sure it didn't shift and trap Bannerman.  He breathed a sigh of relief when the other man was free of the car and back on his feet.

         Moments later, they heard crashing in the brush behind them.  The beam of a flashlight momentarily blinded them.

         "Roscoe?" Walt called out.

         "Who did you expect?  Batman?" the deputy grumbled, handing over the lock punch to his supervisor.

         Bannerman glared at him briefly before turning his attention to the trunk lock.  He had it open in minutes, then stood staring at the contents.

         "Christ… Bruce…"  Johnny's voice sounded strangled.  He reached out to the injured man.

         Walt's first instinct was to instruct them not to move Bruce but he could see the man was laying in over an inch of rainwater.  Realization that their friend was no longer conscious, and worse, no longer shivering, galvanized the sheriff.

         "Hang on a minute, John," he said.  "We're going to have to move him as gently as possible.  He's probably hypothermic.  Moving him in this condition could be dangerous to him, but I think we're going to have to risk it."

         "Boss, why don't you and I ease him out to John?" Roscoe suggested, moving to the left side of the car.

         Bannerman nodded.  Looking up at Roscoe, he said, "On three, okay?"

         Both men leaned in and gripped Bruce's arms and legs.

         "One… two… three!"

         Once Bruce was clear of the trunk, Johnny helped the other two men settle him on one of the blankets.

         "God, he's so cold," Johnny whispered, shrugging out of his own jacket and wrapping it around his friend.

         "He's having some trouble breathing," Walt realized with concern.  Looking up at Roscoe, he said, "Get us some more blankets, and see what's keeping that damned ambulance!"

         The other man took off without acknowledging the orders.

         "Hold the flashlight for me, John.  I want to check him out."  Bannerman handed the light over to the psychic.

         Johnny gasped as he saw Bruce's battered, bloody face.  One eye was swollen shut, there was a cut on his left cheekbone, his nose had been bleeding at some point and his bottom lip was split.

         "Damn, they really did a number on you, didn't they, pal?" Walt murmured sympathetically.  Carefully, he ran his hands along Bruce's arms, relieved to find no obvious broken bones.  His ribcage seemed intact, but there were definite areas of tenderness.  A quick check of the legs reassured Walt that they were mostly undamaged.

         "Well?" Johnny demanded.

         "It doesn't look like any bones are broken, but I'd be surprised if he doesn't have some internal injuries," the sheriff answered.  "And he's been out here all night.  He's definitely hypothermic and either too exhausted to shiver or so cold he's passed beyond that stage.  We need to get him to the hospital."

         "Bruce–"  Johnny's voice choked off.  He had one hand on Bruce's neck, reassuring himself with the feel of the weak but steady pulse.  His other hand gripped Bruce's as if trying to anchor him to this world.

         Walt busied himself wrapping the blankets snugly around Bruce, and adding his own jacket to the pile for warmth.  He wished he could give Johnny some privacy; he felt like an intruder here.  But he had a duty to Bruce first.

         Leaning closer, Johnny whispered, "Hang on, buddy, you hear me?  You've made it this far so don't you dare think of quitting now.  You can't leave me like this, Bruce.  Not now."

         Bannerman looked up and found those disconcerting blue eyes staring at him, perhaps daring him to comment.  He calmly held the psychic's gaze, then softly said, "He's my friend, too, John.  Do whatever you can to keep him hanging on.  Don't mind me, I don't shock easy."

         Johnny nodded, grateful for Walt's open-mindedness.

         Roscoe rejoined them, carrying more blankets.  As they piled them on Bruce, the deputy managed to gasp out, "Medics are here… coming down… behind me."

         "It's about time," Walt murmured.  Catching the beam of high-powered flashlights coming down the hill, he turned his flashlight in their direction and called out, "We're over here!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         The trip to the hospital took half an hour, which was thirty minutes too long by Johnny's reckoning.  He had insisted on riding along.  The medics had refused at first, but Walt had taken the driver aside and murmured something to her that apparently changed her mind.  She motioned to Johnny, telling him to hop in front and pretend he was invisible.

         That had been easy.  Johnny was in no mood to be talkative, especially with strangers.  His thoughts were centered on his unconscious friend in the back.  He couldn't help wondering if the term boyfriend applied.  Friend simply didn't cover what they shared, and yet lover wasn't strictly accurate either.  Not yet.

 _God, we wasted so much time figuring it out, and now it may be too late!_   He tried to push that thought aside.  Bruce was strong; he wasn't going to die.  Not from this.

         The ambulance screamed into the Trauma entrance and quickly backed into the bay.  A team of doctors and nurses were waiting and by the time Johnny stiffly climbed from the ambulance cab they were already wheeling Bruce inside.

         Walt had followed behind them, and now he approached Johnny.  Lightly grasping the blond's arm, he steered him inside.  "C'mon, we might as well get started on the paperwork…"

         "Johnny!  Walt!"  Sarah Bannerman's familiar voice called out from the small gathering of families waiting for words on their loved ones.

         She hugged Walt first, then Johnny.  If she lingered a bit in his embrace, Walt had too much common sense to mention it.  She was _his_ wife, after all, and more important, had made the decision to stay married to him on not just one but two occasions.  And unless he had misread the situation, Johnny Smith's heart belonged elsewhere these days.

         That realization had prompted Walt's call to his wife during the ride to the hospital.  He knew if Bruce didn't make it, Johnny would need his family at his side.  Strange as it sometimes seemed, he and Sarah _were_ part of John's family.

         As Johnny stepped back from Sarah's hug, he looked over at Walt and gave him the barest smile and a nod.  He knew exactly why Walt had called her, and he deeply appreciated it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Forty-five minutes passed without word on Bruce's condition.  Johnny was about to check at the nurses'station once again when he saw a nurse point a man in a white coat in their direction.

         Walt and Sarah stood and moved closer to Johnny's side as the doctor approached.

         Checking a clipboard, the man called, "John Smith?"

         "That's me," the psychic acknowledged, his voice tight with tension.

         "I'm Doctor Vaughn.  I'm in charge of Mr. Lewis's care."  Looking at Walt and Sarah, he asked, "And you are?"

         "Sheriff Walt Bannerman and his wife, Sarah," Johnny introduced.  "Also close friends of Bruce's.  He has no family in this area."

         "Well, Mr. Lewis is lucky he's alive.  He has three cracked ribs, but no other fractures.  He has a concussion, but we can't tell the severity until he wakes up and we can do some tests."  Scanning the chart once more, the doctor said, "There's no internal bleeding, but he has some extensive bruising that we'll have to watch.  And of course the hypothermia is still a problem.  We've been able to bring his core temp up some, but it's still not where it should be."

         Johnny's heart sank.  He knew enough to realize Bruce's condition right now was serious at best.

         "There's also another complication," the doctor continued.  "Mr. Lewis was obviously fighting an upper respiratory infection when he was carjacked.  I'm sorry to say that exposure and hypothermia weakened him enough that pneumonia has set in."

         "Oh, God."  Johnny's knees suddenly gave out and if not for Walt and Sarah grabbing his arms, he would have sunk to the floor.

         "He's stable for now," Dr. Vaughn advised.  "But the next forty-eight hours will be touch and go.  If he has any close relatives, I would suggest you call them."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Eight hours later, Bruce hit his first crisis.  The nurses had been in every half hour to check their patient's vitals, working around Johnny with the smoothness that suggested they were well accustomed to stubborn visitors.

         Johnny had seen the frowns increase in the last three hours, and after this last check he had been ushered out of the room without time to protest.  His gut clenched when he saw machinery being wheeled into Bruce's room.  He recognized it as a ventilator, and it meant that his friend's condition was definitely deteriorating.

         He paced the hall restlessly, for once hating the solitude.  Not that Walt and Sarah had wanted to leave – far from it – but Bruce's mother had arrived at Bangor Airport and Walt had gone to pick her up.  Sarah had left hours ago, not wanting J.J. to wake up and find both of his parents absent.

         Forty-five minutes passed before Dr. Vaughn exited Bruce's room.  He spotted John and nodded wearily.

         "Doc, what's going on?  Is he–?"  The blond swallowed hard.

         "We've been keeping an eye on his O2 sats," the physician replied.  "Normal is one-hundred percent on room oxygen, anything below that starts to worry us.  Unfortunately, Mr. Lewis's sats dropped to ninety percent.  As a result, we've had to put him on the ventilator.  His temperature has been on the rise as well."

         "I want to see him.  I need to be with him," Johnny insisted.

         "I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, but your friend's condition really isn't stable enough for me to feel comfortable allowing that right now."  The physician shook his head regretfully.

         "Please, Doc.  I really need–"

         "Doctor, a word in private if I may?" a new voice interrupted.

         Recognizing it, Johnny turned to see Reverend Gene Purdy standing behind him.  He wasn't sure if he should be glad to see the other man or not – usually Purdy came with a hidden agenda.

         Vaughn moved off to speak with Purdy, occasionally glancing over to look at Johnny.  Finally, he sighed and nodded, resignation clearly visible in his posture.

         "Your friend seems to think your continued presence in the room would be in Mr. Lewis's best interests.  Therefore I'm going to allow it _for now_ ," Vaughn stressed the last two words.  "But be advised if there's any negative change in my patient's condition I will have you removed and banned immediately."

         Johnny nodded, too relieved to take offense at the words.  "He means everything to me, Doc.  I just– I don't want him to be alone right now."

         As the doctor walked away, Smith turned to study Purdy.

         "Don't take this the wrong way, Gene, but I'm a bit surprised to see you here.  I wouldn't think that someone like Bruce would warrant your attention."  Johnny's voice held a sarcastic humor.

         "Johnny, I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Gene quietly rebuked.  "Go keep Bruce company; I'll keep him in my prayers."

         The blond did a double-take, then nodded.  "Thanks, Gene.  I appreciate that.  Really."

         Deciding now was not the time to pursue Purdy's motives, Johnny quickly pushed open the door to Bruce's room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Stepping inside, Johnny stopped abruptly as he took in the sight of Bruce on the ventilator.  He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of anguish at seeing the normally vibrant man so still and vulnerable.

         Taking a seat at the bedside, he reached out and took hold of Bruce's hand, frowning at the dry heat of the skin.  Looking up, he saw beads of sweat running down Bruce's face.

         He got to his feet, planting a chaste kiss on the hand he held.  "I'll be right back," he promised.

         Opening the door to the small bathroom, Johnny found a washcloth and quickly soaked it in lukewarm water.  Wringing it out, he returned to his friend's bedside and laid it over Bruce's forehead.

         Taking the hot hand back in his, he whispered, "You're safe now, Bruce.  All you have to do is concentrate on getting better.  You hear me?  And don't worry about your car.  I saw it.  It's got a couple of dents and scratches but Dusty and I can take care of them.  We'll have it looking good as new by the time you get out of here."  He found he had to pause to clear his throat as fear choked him.

         "You have to keep holding on, Bruce," he whispered.  "You're not done here yet.  You can't be.  So just… hold on, okay?"  He briefly tightened his grip, hoping for a response even though he knew the other man was sedated.

         He didn't remember laying his head down or falling asleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Rose Lewis had been surprised to see Johnny Smith holding her son's hand as she walked into the room.  Then again, it wasn’t as if she hadn't known about her son's fondness for this man.  Hmpf.  Fondness for men, period, but this one was different.  That much had been obvious the first time she'd met him, when Bruce brought him home to his daddy's funeral.

         Smith had been respectful, staying in the background as much as possible while giving Bruce what support her stubborn son would accept.  There was certainly an undeniable bond between them.

         And Sheriff Bannerman had told her on the drive from the airport just how determined Mr. Smith had been to find Bruce.  How he insisted they keep on looking even though it was dangerous to do so in the dark.

         "Mr. Smith?"  When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat and tried again.  "Mr. Smith?"

         This time he stirred and lifted his head, looking in her direction.  He blinked several times, then smiled wanly.

         "Mrs. Lewis.  It's good to see you again."  Then he looked at Bruce and his expression grew shadowed.  "I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances."

         She studied him closely as he studied her son.  There were dark circles under his eyes.  The bright spark in his gaze she had noticed often in that short week he'd spent under her roof had dimmed considerably.

         "Sheriff Bannerman tells me I have you to thank for my son's life."  She nodded formally.  "You have my deepest gratitude."

         Johnny realized he still held Bruce's hand, but decided he wasn't letting go, not even in the presence of Rose Lewis.  Looking up at her, he quietly said, "He's my best friend, ma'am.  I couldn't give up.  He would have done the same for me."

         She nodded, knowing he spoke the truth.  Bruce had always had a big heart.

         Johnny stood, finally letting go of her son's hand.

         "I, uh, should go take care of some things at home."  He looked at Bruce briefly, then turned back to her.  "I'll be back later, if that's okay?"

"Of course."  She doubted he would have listened if she had said no, but it wasn't in her nature to have refused either.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Rose grasped her son's hand and took the seat vacated by Mr. Smith.  Unknowingly mirroring Johnny's earlier thoughts, she fretted over Bruce's unnatural stillness.

         "What did you get yourself into, Baby Boy?" she murmured, brushing her other hand against his cheek.  "And I don't mean that blond who just left either.  Mind you, I knew long before your daddy died that a daughter-in-law was pretty much out of the question, let alone grandchildren."

         She stopped for a moment, studying her unconscious boy.  He was so much like his father, probably why they always got on like dynamite and a spark.  So passionate.

         Small wonder Johnny Smith had fallen for her Bruce.  She had wondered at the time of David's funeral if the two of them were romantically involved.  Mother's instincts had told her no, but that it could happen.  She had made a determined effort to get to know Mr. Smith a little better before they had headed back to Maine and to her surprise, had liked what she discovered.

         He was smart, and she had reminded herself that Bruce had mentioned he taught high school science prior to his tragic accident.  He also had a wry sense of humor that was a perfect foil for Bruce's more outspoken wit.

         And more importantly, he loved her only child.  If it hadn't been totally obvious at her husband's funeral, it was today.  It showed in his haunted expression as he clung to her son's hand.  She saw it in the lines around his shadowed eyes.

         Caressing Bruce's forehead, Rose whispered, "You got to keep hanging in there, baby.  Momma's here with you, and there's someone else who loves you very much.  You got to try, at least for him.  That man's been hurt enough for one lifetime, son."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         After delivering Rose Lewis to the hospital to visit with her son, Walt decided to wait around for Johnny.  He knew the other man would not have a ride home and more importantly, wouldn't think to look for one.

         If left to his own devices, John Smith would stay here until Bruce was either out of danger or–

         Walt shied away from finishing that thought.

         Accustomed to waiting for long periods of time, the sheriff leaned against the wall outside of Bruce's room.  He suspected Johnny would want Mrs. Lewis to have time alone with her son.

         Within a few minutes, the door opened and Johnny stepped out into the hall.  He looked like he had aged in just the short time Walt had been gone.

         "C'mon, John, let me give you a ride home," he suggested, falling into step with his friend.

         "No, thanks."  He waved away the offer.  "I'm good, Walt.  Really."

         "You are?  Could've fooled me.  You look like hell, my friend."  Bannerman carefully kept his voice casual.

         Johnny stopped abruptly, his expression full of rage.  "How do you expect me to look, Walt?  God.  My– My–"  The blond stumbled, barely stopping himself from naming Bruce his lover.  Now of all times he couldn't take the chance that one of his few sources of friendship and support would turn from him in disgust.  Taking a deep breath, he repeated, "My… best friend got run off the road, beaten and then was shoved in a trunk and run over an embankment, left to die!"

         "I know, John.  I _know_."  Reaching out, Walt gripped the other man's arm.  "If it was Sarah in there, I'd be feeling exactly the same."

         "Sarah?"  Smith's face paled, realizing what the other man was inferring.

         "If I've stepped out of line, I'm sorry," Bannerman immediately apologized.  "It's just– You two are so close.  I assumed…  God, I'm sorry, John."

         After taking several deep breaths, Johnny shook his head, his eyes shadowed with pain.  Finally, he rasped, "You're not wrong, Walt.  It's just that it's still really new for us."  His throat closed up, and he shook his head mutely.

         The sheriff nodded understanding.  "Hang in there, okay.  Bruce is strong, and he's a fighter.  He survived long enough for us to find him, let's have faith that he can keep hanging on long enough for his body to get stronger and heal."

         Johnny looked back to the door of Bruce's room.  "I'm afraid to leave him, Walt," he whispered.  "What if I do and–"

         "Hey, first of all, he's not alone.  His mom is with him," Walt reminded his friend.  "Secondly, if it makes you feel better, you can shower and grab something to eat at our place since it's closer.  But you have to eat, John.  And a few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either."

         Johnny closed his eyes briefly.  He was tired beyond belief, and he knew Walt was right.  He needed food and sleep, and while he could perhaps get both here at the hospital, John knew Walt and Sarah would never stand for it.

         With a resigned nod, he followed his friend to the elevator.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Two nights after the rescue, Bruce was still involved in a fight for his life and it was growing apparent even to Johnny that his friend was losing ground.  None of the antibiotics had been successful at controlling the pneumonia, let along breaking its hold.

         Too exhausted to pace any longer, Johnny sat in a chair in the waiting room while the nurses checked on Bruce.  He didn't have to be psychic to know that the other man couldn't hang on much longer.  Bruce was getting weaker as the fever continued to ravage his body.

         Walt and Sarah had long since given up trying to get him to leave the hospital.  For that matter, neither of them showed any signs of leaving, and they had been here since noon.

         Rose was in with her son and his doctor at the moment.  Johnny had a leaden feeling in his gut that whatever they were discussing, it couldn't be good.

         Sarah got to her feet, wringing her hands nervously.

         "I can't just sit around here any more," she said. "I'm going to go get some coffee?  Anyone else want one?"

         Walt nodded, but Johnny declined.  He'd had enough bad hospital coffee to last him a long time.

         Once Sarah had left, Walt walked over and took a seat next to Johnny.  Keeping his voice low, he asked, "How are you holding up?"

         Johnny shook his head in despair.  "We're losing him, Walt.  He's slipping away hour by hour now.  Damn!  What good are my visions if they can't help me save my best friend?  The one person who keeps me sane?"  _The one person I love more than my own life…._

         Walt knew Johnny had seen some things in the past two days that had affected the course of Bruce's treatment.  In one case, the drug they would have administered would have sent Bruce into anaphylactic shock and killed him.  Unfortunately, the psychic hadn't been able to see the miracle drug needed to get their friend through the crisis.  At least not yet.

         "Hey, John, you're forgetting your visions _have_ helped.  We never would have found him in time without you."  The sheriff let that sink in before continuing, "And I can think of at least one medication that they wanted to give him that you stopped because you saw a bad reaction."

         "I just don't know how much longer he can keep hanging on, Walt."  He blinked back tears.

         Knowing the blond was sensitive to touch, Walt still risked resting his hand on the man's tense shoulder and squeezing briefly.  "Ever think that he's got one hell of a reason to keep hanging around, my friend?"

         Before Johnny could formulate an answer to that, Dr. Vaughn walked into the waiting room.

         "Mr. Smith?  Mrs. Lewis asked that you join us."  His expression gave nothing away.

         Johnny could feel the blood draining from his face.  "Bruce… is he–?"

         "He's still alive, Mr. Smith.  Please, come with me."

         Walt watched the other man walk down the hall, his steps as reluctant as if he were being led to the gas chamber.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         The hissing of the ventilator was always the first sound that registered for Johnny when he entered Bruce's room.  The first sight that registered was his friend's drawn face, as if the fever had burned the flesh from him.  But it was the smell that made him want to flee – that heavy medicinal smell that permeated every hospital.

         "John."  Rose reached her hand out to him, drawing him to her side.  There were tears in her eyes which she tried to dash away.

         "Mrs. Lewis?  What's–?"  Johnny turned to the doctor.  "What's happened?"

         "As you know, Mr. Lewis has not responded positively to any of the antibiotics we've introduced into his system."  Dr. Vaughn looked uncomfortable.  Clearing his throat, he continued, "His temperature is once again on the rise.  We haven't given up, but I'm afraid there's very little we can do for him now except to make him comfortable."

         "Oh God," Johnny breathed, his chest constricting with pain.  _This is it.  This is how it ends?  Oh, Bruce… so little time to really get to know you._

         "…like to discuss those papers you mentioned earlier, Dr. Vaughn," Rose Lewis was saying.  "In private, if you don't mind."

         "Of course."  The physician walked to the door and opened it.

         Johnny had pulled up a chair and now sat at Bruce's side, holding the lax hand sandwiched in his own.

         "I'll be right back, son," she whispered, dropping a soft kiss on Johnny's temple.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Once the door closed again, Johnny got to his feet and leaned over his unconscious friend.  Lover.  Closing his eyes, he kissed the too-warm forehead.

         "I love you, Bruce," he whispered.  "More than I ever imagined I could love anyone again after Sarah.  You've been my reason to live these past few years."  He waited, hoping for some response, some recognition, but knowing just as well that Bruce couldn't reply.  "Doc Vaughn says this is it, buddy.  They've done everything they can for you and it's all up to you now."  Johnny laughed bitterly.  "Or as Gene would say, you and God."

         Still holding on with one hand, John reached out with the other, stroking his fingers over the beloved features, wincing as he encountered the fever-dry lips.

         "You're my best friend, Bruce Lewis," he choked out.  "And I wish I hadn't waited so long to find out what it would be like to be your lover."

         A sob escaped, and he angrily brushed the tears away.  "I know you're tired, and hurting.  But knowing you, you're probably still hanging around because you think I can't make it without you, right?  Okay, so you're not far wrong, my friend.  It's going to be tough in a lot of ways.  But if you need to go I understand.  There will never be anyone else like you, and I'm going to miss you like hell.  I'll never forget you.  I love you, Bruce."

         Leaning down once more, Johnny brushed a whisper soft kiss over the chapped lips, his tears now falling unchecked on his love's face.

         The psychic trembled visibly, struggling to bring his fear and grief back under control.  Thankfully when he was tired or emotionally tapped out he was less likely to have visions.  Right now he didn't think he could handle seeing any future that might not include Bruce in it.

         A box of tissues sat on a stand beside the bed, and the blond claimed several, wiping his tears first from Bruce's face and then from his own.

         "I love you," he repeated, "and I always will, Bruce.  I know you love me, too, and that you wouldn't leave me if you didn't have to.  I'm going to hold on to that thought, no matter what happens, okay?  I'll hang on to it with everything I've got, so you don't have to worry about me.  It's time to think about yourself now."

         Taking another shuddering breath, the blond stood, although he still gripped Bruce's lax hand in his own.  "I know your mom wants to be with you for a while, so I'm going to go get her.  But I'm not going far and I'll still be with you, just like you're always with me."  With another tender kiss, John finally released his lover's hand and slipped out the door.  He knew if he stayed any longer he wouldn't be able to leave at all.

         As Johnny stepped into the hallway, he was met by three concerned people.  Their expressions mirrored the despair he knew had to be visible on his own face.

         Walt stood, not realizing he still held Sarah's hand until she also joined him.

         "John?" the sheriff rasped.

         Seeing the tears running down Sarah's face, Johnny realized how this must look.  He tried to speak but had to clear his throat.

         "He's tough…  He's still hanging on."  Hearing Rose Lewis's gasp of surprise, Johnny turned to her.  He suddenly realized he might not have had any right to give Bruce permission to let go, at least in his mother's eyes.

         Even knowing she might hate him for the presumption, Johnny decided he had to tell her what he had done.  He tried not to think of the possible consequences.  She would have every right to ban him from Bruce's room.  She could keep any arrangements for Bruce's memorial and burial from him.  Oh God…

         "Mrs. Lewis—"  He tried to take a deep breath but couldn't make his lungs expand far enough.

         She closed the distance between them, reaching out her hands to him.

         He grasped them instinctively, squeezing gently.

         "I– I thought you might like some time alone with him," he finally choked out.  "But before you do, I have to tell you something.  Something you have a right to know and that you might end up hating me for."

         Her tired, dark gaze studied his expression for several long moments before she nodded.  "All right, son.  Tell me what's on your mind."

         Johnny nodded, his eyes bright.  "Bruce…  I love him, Mrs. Lewis."  He had to clear his throat.  "It's tearing me up to see him like this.  Those machines are keeping him alive, and maybe that's not what's best for him.  I– I hope you can forgive me, but I told him if he needs to let go, he should.  I had to.  I just couldn't–"  Unable to keep going, John broke eye contact and waited for the rage he felt sure would follow.

         The only sound for the next minute was Sarah's quiet sobs and Walt's low, rough voice trying to comfort her.

         Reaching up to gently cup the man's cheek, Rose whispered, "It's all right, son.  I already gave him the same speech earlier."  When Johnny started to weep, she pulled him into an embrace.  "You've just proved to me how right you are for my boy, John Smith.  He chose well."

         Johnny enfolded the woman in a hug.  "That means a lot to me, Mrs. Lewis.  Thank you," he whispered.

         "No.  Thank you, for loving my boy."  With that, she stepped out of his embrace and turned, walking into Bruce's room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         _God, I'm beat.  I can't remember ever being this tired._ The lack of sensory stimulation around him didn't bother Bruce.  He figured there had to be a good reason for it.

         When he next floated back to some level of awareness, Bruce was aware of an almost bone-chilling cold.  And yet he knew he was sweating profusely.

         _W-what the h-hell's g-goin' on here?_ he wondered.

         Feeling a soft hand brush over his cheek, he wanted to smile.  He would know that touch anywhere.

         _Mama?  What are you doin' here?  Come to think of it, where exactly is here, anyway?_

         She was talking to him, and he tried to focus on her words.  _What's she mean, it's okay to go?  Go where?  God, I'm so tired._

         He knew exactly when John approached the bed.  Bruce hadn't exactly been a big believer in psychic energy and auras until meeting John.  Now he was so accustomed to the slight buzz of energy surrounding the man that he actually felt odd without it.

         _Love you too, man,_ he echoed his partner's thoughts.  _Wait.  Not you too?  Why is everyone trying to tell me where to go today?_

_Damn.  I'm fading again…._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

With a sense of shock, Bruce realized he was dying.  That's what his mother and Johnny had been telling him.  Johnny…  He really didn't want to leave, given the recent shift in his relationship with the blond but he didn't think he had the strength to hang on.

         _God, John…  I'm so sorry for leaving you like this, man!  I never intended to hurt you like this, you have to know that.  I know what losing Sarah did to you.  I promised myself I wouldn't do the same thing, and yet…_

         A chill wind blew over him and Bruce shivered reflexively.  Hearing a murmur of voices he frowned, then followed them until he located the source.  The darkness lifted just enough for him to catch the glint of wheat blond hair.  The other man was none other than Reverend Gene Purdy.  They appeared to be arguing.

         _Johnny!_

         The blond turned and looked at him.  But it was clear he couldn't actually see him.  His eyes were covered with a thick film, obscuring the intense blue irises.

         Bruce's shiver this time was born of fear.  This man was not _his_ Johnny.  And it had nothing to do with the scars and obvious trauma.  There was a cold, calculating air around this stranger, like he was shut off from humanity by choice.

         Bruce backed away instinctively, and the air around him warmed instantly.  He turned slightly, eyes going wide as he took in the change in scenery.

         It only took him a moment to recognize the secluded pond where he and Johnny often fished.  There were no poles evident this day, however.  By the look of the trees and nearby flowers, it was early summer.

         Two men were lounging under a birch tree and as Bruce looked closer he was startled to realize it was some future version of John and himself.  Future, because his other self had grown back the goatee and even had let his hair grow out a little.  And John's hair was longer too.  Damn, he looked fine.

         Wearing track pants and a wife-beater, Johnny sat leaning against the trunk, cushioning Bruce's head and shoulders in his lap.  With one hand he cradled his companion while the other hand stroked the dark face, tracing lightly over closed eyelids and running his hand through the just long enough locks of hair.  Occasionally that hand would skim down over the bare chest, smiling as the muscles rippled in reaction to the tender touch.  Black Speedo shorts clung like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

         Observer Bruce couldn't help sucking in a breath at the intimacy of the scene.  It looked so easy, so familiar.  So… right.  He knew in his heart this was how it was meant to be between him and John.

         And then the blond was whispering to his counterpart.

         "Marry me, Bruce.  I want to spend the rest of my life with you."  John leaned down and brushed a kiss against the full lips.

         Observer Bruce watched his other self's eyes widen and the man sat up in one fluid motion, turning to face his partner.

         "You serious, John?"

         "Never more so," the blond assured.  "I want you in my life permanently, and I want to share everything with you.  Now that it's legal I don't see any reason for us not to get married.  Unless of course you don't–"

         "Whoa!"  Reaching out, Bruce put two fingers against his lover's lips.  "Don't go puttin' words in my mouth.  You already give me everything, John.  And I told you from the start I'm here for the long haul.  I love you.  I just never thought–"  It was his turn to pause, then he let the words out in a rush.  "I never thought you'd be interested in marrying a man."

         "Not just any man… you."  The blond's smile held promise. 

         "So if I'm da man, does that make you the little woman?" Bruce teased, grinning widely.

         "Little woman?  Why you…"  Johnny lunged at his partner, knocking him to the ground and straddling his hips.  "I'll show you who's going to wear the pants in this marriage."

         His swift hands soon had Bruce howling with laughter as the blond hit every ticklish spot he knew.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Hearing a throat clearing behind him, Observer Bruce turned and found himself back in his father's study.  He looked around in surprise.  The room looked as it had when he had been home for his daddy's funeral.

         And then he turned around and nearly jumped when he came face to face with the Reverend David Lewis.

         "Daddy?"  He swallowed hard.  "How–? How is this possible?  What's going on?"

         David hugged his son tight.  "It's so good to see you, boy.  But where's John?  I'm not used to seeing one without the other."

         The sense of unreality made Bruce shiver.  He had known he was dying but when exactly had he crossed over? 

         "He's, uh, he's still on the other side, I guess you call it," Bruce finally answered.

         Reverend Lewis frowned.  "Now that's not right.  You two are supposed to arrive together."

         "Don't I wish, Daddy," the younger man murmured.  He already missed his partner deeply.

         "Look, son, I'm serious.  You don't belong here.  As good as it is to see you, your work with John Smith is not done yet.  You have to go back," David urged.

         "Daddy, I'm not sure I _can_ go back," Bruce admitted.  "I have no idea how I got here.  How do I find my way back?"

         "I'll show you, but we have to do it now."  Lightly grasping his son's arm, David urged him toward the door.  Before he opened it, he said, "You have to be sure of this, Bruce.  You have to want it without doubt, accepting all that going back entails, because if there's doubt, you'll be left straddling here and there, trapped between the two."

         Bruce closed his eyes, briefly praying for the wisdom to make the right decision.  In that moment he saw John in the present, standing in the hallway with tears falling unashamedly down his cheeks, arms wrapped across his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

         "I belong with him, Daddy.  You said it yourself.  He's my destiny."  Bruce lifted his head.  "Show me the way."

         Opening the door, David waved at the murky fog beyond.  "Just keep on walking, son.  You'll find the way as you go."

         Bruce looked doubtfully into the fog, but he trusted his father this time.  He hugged the older man.  "I love you, Daddy."

         "I love you, too.  And I'll be here waiting for you… both of you, when the time comes."  David took a step back out of the embrace.  "Give John my love.  Now go, before it's too late."

         The younger man walked into the fog without hesitation, knowing that when he came out on the other side, John would be waiting for him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Sarah had wept herself out but still remained enclosed within the circle of her husband's arms.  She knew life could be cruel, but what Johnny was enduring was even beyond that description.  To find love again and then have it ripped away?  Again?

         Walt hugged Sarah protectively to him, knowing how keenly she was feeling Johnny's grief.  He understood this time.  His own throat ached with the unfairness of the situation.

         Johnny stood leaning against the wall across from the door to Bruce's room.  The blond had his arms wrapped tightly over his middle, perhaps trying to keep himself from coming apart at the seams.

         _This is all so wrong!_ Walt raged internally.  Bruce was one of the good guys, one of the best.  Easygoing to a fault most of the time, Bruce could be fiercely protective when the situation arose.  He hated bullies and wouldn't tolerate it from anyone, even if it wasn't directed at him.

         That Bruce loved John Smith had been obvious to Walt early on.  He just hadn't realized the depth of that love.  Then again, he wasn't sure Bruce and John had known themselves, not until recently.

         Sarah pulled away, staring at him for a moment before getting to her feet and approaching her former fiancé.  Walt understood she had been asking for permission but she didn't need it.  Not in this time or place.  He no longer questioned her love for him, or where he fit in her life.  And he had accepted that John Smith held a special place in her heart; he always would. 

         "Johnny?"  She gently squeezed his arm.  "Johnny."

         The blond took a shuddering breath, then turned to her.  Voice raw, he whispered, "What am I going to do, Sarah?  How do I live through this?"

         "Oh, Johnny."  Sarah hugged him close.  She didn't think he wanted to be reminded of how she had coped when she had thought him lost to her.

         Walt stepped up behind her and when Sarah took a step back, the other man pulled Johnny into a fierce hug.

         "I'm so sorry, John," he whispered roughly.  "I wish I had been able to get crews out there to search for him quicker."

         "This isn't your fault," Johnny replied, returning the embrace.  "You went above and beyond, Walt, and I'll always be grateful for that."

         Walt appreciated the words, but he didn't quite believe them.  He couldn't help thinking if he really had gone above and beyond, Bruce wouldn't be dying right now.

         Dying…  The word cut mercilessly at Walt's heart as he stepped out of the hug.  First Sarah and now Bruce.  How much loss did one man have to cope with in one lifetime?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         _Voices.  Okay, I can hear voices again.  That's definitely Mama.  So that must mean I made it?_

         Summoning all his energy, Bruce struggled to open his eyes.  God, he was tired.  But there was something he had to do.  If only he could remember what it was…?

         "Bruce?  Bruce, baby… are you awake?"  Rose had been watching her son carefully and had noticed his eyelids fluttering.  "Blink twice if you can hear me, baby boy."

         _I'm tryin', Mama._   Finally he managed the requested two blinks.

         Sobbing, Mrs. Lewis squeezed her son's hand.  "Doctor, what does this mean?  Is he…?"

         "I'm not sure.  I need to check him out."  The physician checked his patient's vitals, surprised to find them stronger.  And his temperature had dropped.  Granted, only three-tenths of a degree, but it was a start.

         "Doctor?" Rose pleaded.

         "Your son is one determined fighter," Dr. Vaughn declared.  "It's a little too early to say, but it's possible that last antibiotic is finally doing the trick.  His temperature is down slightly."

         "Thank you, Jesus," Mrs. Lewis whispered, brushing her hand over her son's still too warm forehead.

         "As I said, it's too early to say for sure," Vaughn cautioned.  "I'll have to check him again in thirty minutes and see where we are at that time."

         The petite woman smiled, her joy undimmed.  "Doctor, the fact that he could still be here in thirty minutes is a miracle, is it not?"

         Dr. Vaughn had to admit she had a point since they hadn't expected Bruce to survive even this long.

         Aloud he only said, "I'll be back in half an hour to check on him again."

         Knowing there was someone else who needed to be here right now, Rose walked with him to the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Johnny wanted to be in that room with his partner.  He knew he didn't really have the right under the law, but his heart told him that's where he needed to be and to hell with policy.

         On the other hand he wasn't entirely sure if he could handle being there when Bruce drew his last breath either.  Either way, the waiting was torture.

         Thirty minutes after Rose entered her son's room, the door opened and Dr. Vaughn walked out with Mrs. Lewis following behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         A strangled gasp was Walt's only warning and he turned barely in time to grab the psychic's nearest arm as Johnny's legs gave out.

         "Whoa, John," he said softly, relieved to see the doctor already moving to support his friend as well.

         Even as they maneuvered Johnny to a chair, Rose knelt in front of him, reaching out her hand to brush away the tears staining the pale face.

         "He's not gone, son," she assured, smiling through her own tears.  "You hear me?  He's still hanging on, and he's getting better."

         "Wh-what?"  Johnny wasn't at all sure he was hearing correctly.  He looked at Dr. Vaughn, who smiled and nodded slightly.

         "Mr. Lewis isn't out of the woods just yet," the physician said.  "However, I'm guardedly optimistic that he'll recover."

         Sarah gasped, her eyes wide with surprise.

         "How sure are you?" Walt grilled.  He knew Johnny wouldn't be able to handle it if they starting hoping, only for Bruce to take another turn for the worse.

         "His temperature fell three-tenths of a degree in the thirty minutes we were with him," the doctor stated.  "A nurse will be in to check him in another half hour.  If his temperature has dropped again, it's a good indicator that the drugs are working.  All his other vitals should level out accordingly, easing the strain on his system."

         "I want to see him," Johnny said, struggling to his feet.  "I need to see him."

         Dr. Vaughn nodded.  "Of course, but just for a few minutes.  And if he's sleeping, don't wake him.  He really needs to rest."

         "Come on, son," Rose said, taking Johnny's hand.  "You're just the medicine he needs."

         Had Johnny been thinking more clearly he might have blushed, but he was still trying to comprehend that Bruce was yet alive.

         As they entered the room, Johnny quickly moved to his lover's side, taking Bruce's nearest hand in his and squeezing gently.  Leaning down, he whispered, "I owe you one, buddy.  And as soon as you wake up and get the hell out of this place, I'm going to pay you back – with interest."

         Dark eyes fluttered open and Bruce weakly returned the handclasp, signaling he understood the message.

         Johnny laughed, at the same time blinking back tears.  "Welcome back, buddy.  Welcome back."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**One month later**

         Bruce knew he'd been manipulated the moment he walked through the front door.  He could smell the delectable aroma of roast pork cooked in onion and knew John had been talking to his mom again.  Not only that, it had been John's idea for him to go check on things at his apartment, encouraging him to take as much time as he needed.  Now he knew why.

         "John, you sly dog, you…" he muttered, grinning widely in appreciation.

         As if hearing his name, the blond appeared in the hallway a moment later, still wearing his cooking apron.  "Ah!  Thought I heard the front door."

         He kissed Bruce with an ease that still surprised the other man. Although they still hadn't made love, the level of intimacy between them often made Bruce shiver in anticipation of what it would be like when they did get to that point.

         He hoped it was soon, too.  He'd tried giving John subtle hints that he was more than ready, but the other man was either more dense than usual, or more likely, was playing mother-hen.  Either way Bruce was seriously considering some one-handed relief and that just seemed a crying shame when he knew there was no good reason to be flying solo.

         If only he could convince John of that.

         "Did you miss me?" he teased, trapping Johnny in his arms and stealing a longer, deeper kiss.

         The bright blue eyes turned shadowed, but it passed so quickly Bruce wondered if he wasn't imagining things.

         "Mmm, I always miss you when you're not here," Johnny answered, his voice husky.  "Hungry?"

         _Not for what you're thinkin'!_

         _Down boy!_ Bruce scolded his libido.  _You're gonna scare him off, you keep that shit up_.

         "Starved," he managed to answer, hoping his voice sounded normal.  "Is that what I think it is?  My mom's pork roast recipe?"

         "It is."  Johnny looked inordinately pleased with himself.

         "Uh, no offense, babe, but I heard the fire siren go off in town.  They weren't coming out here, were they?"  Bruce sniffed the air cautiously.

         "Oh, wise guy, eh?"  Johnny nodded knowingly.  "Fine, be that way!  See if I ever cook you a special meal again."

         The other man used his best pouting face, knowing the man had no defense against it.  "But I'm a sick man, John!  I need feeding."

         Again the shadow in the blue eyes, quickly dispelled as Johnny took two steps back, shucked off his apron, rolled it up and snapped it at Bruce's ass.

         "Then get moving, 'cause dinner's ready and I'm hungry too!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         "Damn, that was really good, John," Bruce complimented, taking a sip from his half-full wine glass.

         "Thank your mother," the blond replied.  "She gave me a refresher course before heading back home.  Frankly, I think she wanted to make sure that the man she'd entrusted her son to was going to be capable of feeding him properly.  Not that I blame her."

         Pushing his chair back from the table, Johnny gathered the plates and carried them into the kitchen.

         _What the hell's going on here?_ Bruce wondered.  One minute things were fine and the next John had slipped into this melancholy mood.  He followed his lover into the kitchen, freezing as he saw the other man standing at the sink, his shoulders hunched tight.

         "John?  Hey, John, what's up, babe?"  Quickly closing the distance between them, Bruce turned the other man to face him, brushing tears from the pale cheeks.  "You're scarin' me here.  _Talk_ to me.  Please."

         "It's stupid," Johnny muttered, averting his gaze.

         "Anything that has you this upset is not stupid."  Bruce pulled the other man into a close embrace. 

         "It's just– Today, when Doc Vaughn cleared you–"  Johnny shook his head, frustrated at his own inability to form a complete sentence.

         "It's okay.  Take your time."

         Slowly inhaling and exhaling, Johnny continued, "We've been waiting and waiting for Dr. Vaughn to release you to go back to work and now today he finally did.  I wanted to celebrate that, but all I kept seeing was you in that hospital bed, and I–"  He swallowed hard.  "I keep remembering how close I came to losing you, Bruce."

         "God, John," the other man breathed, humbled by the depth of love in those bright eyes.  "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

         "I love you so much," Johnny whispered, "but I never got to show you."

         "You kidding me?"  Bruce asked, shocked.  "John, you show me all the time, man.  More than I can think of.  Like that car?"

         "Not in the one way that means the most to you."  Johnny leaned forward, capturing the full lips in a slow, sensual kiss.  When he drew back, he whispered, "Make love with me, Bruce – now."

         Bruce groaned as his cock immediately responded to the husky plea.

         "Bedroom," he murmured, trying to hang on to what self-control he had left.  He wanted their first time together to be more memorable than a romp on the kitchen floor.  Not to mention more comfortable.

         "Living room," Johnny gasped, as he steered them toward the hallway.  He didn't think he could make it as far as the bedroom.  He wanted Bruce that badly.  Needed him even more.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         They stripped in haste, uncaring of where the clothing landed.  Bruce guided them to the sofa, making sure that he was on the bottom.  He wanted John to have control, let him set the pace.

         And set the pace he did.  Johnny licked and kissed a path along one jaw and then set about learning the contours of the other.  When he reached the ears he took special care, licking the shell and blowing soft gusts of air over the wet surface.  His lover's shivers and hardening cock urged him on.

         Johnny then kissed a path down Bruce's chest.  The dusting of hair disconcerted him for a moment, but he quickly disregarded it as he sought his prize.  There.  Rasping his tongue over one nipple, he was rewarded with a groan and nearly found himself bucked off the couch.

         "Oh, so you like that, huh?" he grinned, leaning over to nip sharply at Bruce's other nipple.

         "Jesus," Bruce hissed.  A bit breathless, he gasped, "You sure you've… never done this before?"

         Johnny paused to glare at his lover, but it held little heat.  "I'm not a virgin, Bruce."

         "Obviously, since you're a father," the other man teased, kissing him.  "But you've never been with a man before."

         "I haven't heard you complaining up to now," the psychic pointed out.  "And it's not as if it's the first time I've made love to someone I cared deeply about.  Are you telling me this will be that much different?  Other than the obvious."  He smirked at the exasperated look on his lover's face.  "So what's the problem?"

         Bruce's expression softened.  Reaching out, he cupped John's face, brushing his thumb over the thin lips.  "No problem, babe.  You surprised me a little, that's all.  Just… just do whatever you know feels good for you.  I promise I'll let you know if it doesn't work for me, okay?"

         They shared a kiss which quickly turned heated.  Closing his arms around his lover, Bruce kept one hand on John's back while the other grabbed a handful of ass.  He ground their hips together, and grinned when John broke the kiss with a harsh gasp as his erection brushed against Bruce's.

         The other man grinned wickedly.  "You like that, huh, John?"

         "Like you have to ask?"  Johnny stole a kiss while shifting his hips again.

         It was Bruce's turn to groan as the delicious friction set his nerves aflame.  In that instant, he knew this first time wasn't going to be slow and easy, as he'd planned.  There would be time for that later.  Right now they needed hard and fast and he knew just the way to get them there.

         Settling John between his legs, Bruce began thrusting against his partner.  John soon caught the rhythm and returned his thrusts, stroke for stroke.

         The blond groaned, feeling the delicious building of pressure in his groin, and he picked up speed.

         "Oh, God, Bruce," he gasped, shudders of pleasure racing through him.

         "Yeah.  That's it, John," Bruce urged him on.  "Harder!  Yeah!"

         And in the next instant, liquid heat spurted between them as Bruce climaxed.  Johnny followed about a heartbeat behind.  He collapsed on top of his lover, trying to shift his weight so he was laying half on the sofa and half on Bruce.

         "Mmm, no, don't move," the other man said, keeping him in place.  "You're just fine right where you are, babe.  I like having you here."

         Pulling the afghan from the back of the couch, Johnny spread it over them to ease the chill of the evening air.  As he drifted off to sleep, he mused that it would be very easy to get used to sleeping like this.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         "The defendant is found guilty on all charges.  He is to be remanded to county jail until his sentencing, which date to be determined.  Court is adjourned for the day."  Judge Kerry Peters rapped his gavel sharply.

         Walt stood with Johnny and Bruce.  The latter looked stunned, as if the ruling caught him off-guard.

         "C'mon, let's go get a bite to eat," the sheriff suggested.  He had a feeling both men might want to discuss the verdict in depth, and he'd prefer the conversation be held outside of J.J.'s young earshot.

         Forty-five minutes later they were seated in the diner waiting for their food.

         Johnny eyed his lover closely.  "What's on your mind, Bruce?"

         The younger man snorted, at the same time shaking his head.  "Man, if anyone had told me that Matt Sollensky would not only refuse to pay his son's bail, but refuse to pay for his lawyer, I'd have said they were hallucinating."

         Walt had to agree.  "I've known Matt a long time.  He's been accused of some shady dealings, although nothing ever sticks."

         "Maybe there's something about knowing your son is willing to cover up not just grand theft auto and carjacking, but murder, that changed his mind," Johnny  suggested.

         Bruce shrugged.  "I guess so.  I just don't get where that disregard for life comes from, y'know?  Life is precious.  _All_ life."

         "Hear, hear."  Johnny lifted his glass of iced tea in a toast, which Walt and Bruce joined without hesitation.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         As they approached the Smith estate an hour later, Bruce noticed Johnny getting edgy.  The blond shifted in the driver's seat and cleared his throat several times as if on the verge of saying something.

         "Okay, John… out with it," he finally demanded as they pulled up to the gate.

         "Out with what?" he asked innocently.

         "Nuh-uh, don't even try to pull that bullshit with me, man.  Remember.  I _know_ you, John."  Bruce glared at his lover.  "You're up to something and I want to know what it is."

         The other man sighed.  He shouldn't have waited to tell his partner.  Now he had no choice.  How would Bruce take it?  Only one way to find out, he knew.  Still, delaying a moment longer, he punched in the code to open the gate and watched as the heavy wrought-iron bars parted.

         "I'm still waiting," Bruce reminded him, not sounding very patient.

         "The Mustang is here," Johnny said, pointing up to the house where a tarp draped car could be seen.

         "Damn," Bruce muttered, slouching down in the passenger seat.  "How much damage did those punks do to it?  Can we charge them with mental anguish?"

         The Land Rover stopped short of the house and John got out, slamming the door.

         "Was it something I said?" the other man wondered, then it hit him.  _Mental anguish_.  Walt and Sarah had both told him how John had pushed and pushed until Bruce had been located.  And how he had to be forced from Bruce's side in the hospital.  _Mental anguish.  Shit.  Me and my big mouth.  What the hell's a car compared to what John went through?_

         Bruce opened the passenger door and hopped out, walking around to join his lover.  "John…"

         The psychic shook his head.  "It's okay, Bruce.  Sometimes it still gets to me, y'know?  How close it was…"

         Without hesitation, Bruce enfolded the other man into a tight hug.  "Yeah, I know.  But I'm here, and I'm okay.  Just keep remembering that, right?"

         "Yeah."  Johnny returned the hug, grateful for the contact.

         "So, about the car," the physical therapist said, bringing them back to the original subject.

         "Go take a look," Johnny instructed, nodding towards the draped vehicle.

         Shooting his lover an exasperated glare, Bruce took off at a jog.

         Johnny got back into his truck and pulled into his usual parking place.  He was surprised to see that Bruce still hadn't removed the tarp and he frowned.  Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. 

         He had debated about getting the Mustang fixed up.  After all, possession of the car had led to Bruce's near death.  But Dusty and Walt had assured him it was the right thing to do.  Now he wasn't so sure.

         Climbing once more from the driver's seat, John approached the other man hesitantly.  "Bruce?  Listen, this was probably a bad idea.  I– I thought maybe– Hell, it doesn't matter what I was thinking."  He sighed, frustrated.  "You don't have to do anything, okay?  Just forget it.  I'll have Dusty come and haul it off this evening, all right?  He'll store it for you until you decide if you want to sell it or whatever.  You won't even have to think about it."

"What?  What the hell are you talking about?" Bruce questioned, turning to stare at his partner in surprise.

"The car," Johnny replied softly, staring down at the ground.  "I wasn't thinking.  I just assumed.  I should have realized you wouldn't want it any more, not after what happened.  I'm sorry.  I– I should have realized…"  His voice faded off as he turned away, ashamed at his lack of consideration for Bruce's feelings after all he'd been through.

         "John, this car had nothing to do with what happened.  It was a bunch of stupid kids, and they're paying the price for it."  He touched the hood, smiling fondly.  "I'm glad to have it back, man.  It was a gift from someone I love more than I can put into words."

         The blond swallowed hard, wondering how he'd ever gotten so lucky to have a man like Bruce in his life.

         "I love you, too," he replied, eyes bright with emotion.  "Now c'mon, let's take a look at Dusty's handiwork."

Johnny grabbed the back end of the tarp while Bruce took the front.  Together they hauled it off, dropping it to the ground.

         "Wow," Bruce breathed in awe, walking around the Mustang and inspecting it.  "Dusty did a hell of a job, man.  I can't even tell where it was hit!"

Johnny nodded, looking smug.  "I know.  He's wasted up there on that mountain.  He should open his own shop.  He could make a fortune.  Then again, some of us are better off on our own."

         "You are _not_ one of those people, John.  Only when you need to be," the younger man asserted. 

         "Thanks, man."  The psychic's grin was genuine.

         Taking another walk around the car, Bruce clapped his hands together.  "Hey, I have an idea.  It's still gonna be light for a while.  Why don't we take her out for a spin?"

         "Sure, why not?" Johnny agreed, heading for the passenger side.  "Keys are in the ignition.  Let's do it."

         Both men got in and Bruce turned the key in the ignition, smiling widely as the engine turned over smoothly.

         "Damn, that's sweet!" he crowed, stepping on the clutch and shifting into gear.  As he sped off down the driveway, he asked, "Which way do I need to turn to get to King's Point?"

         Johnny blinked in surprise.  "King's Point?  Bruce, that's a–"

         "Make out spot?"  Bruce grinned widely.  "Yeah, I know.  Walt told me about it when he first saw the car.  At the time, I didn't have anyone to try it out with.  Now I do."  Pausing, Bruce canted a quick glance at his partner before dropping his voice to a seductive rumble.  "You interested?"

         The tone conjured up images that sent a jolt of desire straight through the blond, and he shifted in his seat.  Shit.

         "I am now," Johnny growled, resting his hand on his lover's thigh and stroking.  "Turn left, then left again on Beech.  Just follow the signs from there.  How fast does this baby move?"

         "You trust my driving, babe?" Bruce asked, totally serious.

         "I trust you with my life," the blond answered without hesitation.

         "Then let's do it!"  With a whoop of joy, Bruce peeled left out of the driveway.

 

 ~  fin  ~ 

 


End file.
